Chosen of the Gods
by Vampire Revenant
Summary: When a curious stranger appears in the desert around Hamunaptra, Ardeth finds himself drawn into a plot hatched long before the ancient Egyptians lived, when the world was in its Second Age. Crossover with Exalted
1. Prologue: Awakenings

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of The Mummy or The Mummy Returns, nor do I own the world of Exalted. All belong to their respective owners, and I am not making even a penny off this story.

Prologue: Awakening

The moon was high in the sky when the small tomb appeared, the sands shifting and earth shaking with the effort of lifting it to ground level from a depth no archeologist could hope to reach with their tools. It was surprisingly simple in appearance but for the massive golden doors, the hieroglyphs carved into it indecipherable by anyone but the figure lying within the false sarcophagus in a peaceful slumber. The lid to the golden coffin lifted just as silently as the doors to the tomb opened and the figure sat up, looking around curiously at the decorations that had been created and placed within to give off the illusion that this was a place of death. Lapis lazuli-colored eyes scanned the walls where heroic portraits were painted, commemorating feats that no mortal could have survived without injury.

Climbing out of the sarcophagus, the figure gathered up the items within - three immaculate white books, a sturdy but well-used bag, a bow and quiver of arrows, and a black cloak. The cloak was donned quickly, the hood drawn up to conceal all but a pair of full lips pulled into a sad smile as the figure whispered to no one in particular, "Something big is going to happen." The voice was too hoarse for a gender to be assumed, the language long forgotten like the engravings of the doors. The bag, bow and quiver were all shouldered, the books tucked under an arm, and the unknown person walked out into the desert.

This figure didn't see the one watching from the sand dunes, a sneer spreading over his lips in the guise of a smile. He was covered head to toe in almost skin-tight black clothing, crouched down and cloaked with Essence to hide his presence from the figure.

"Well, well, well, looks like you're going to cause my plans to be…rushed," he said, sneer replaced with a confident smirk, "But I will have you working with me by the end of this." At this moment, the man's voice sounded like it was struggling to be heard through a destroyed voice box, and beneath the black collar of his shirt he bore a set of pink and white scars which served as a reminder of where he had come from centuries before his Exaltation.

Once the figure was out of sight, he stood up and walked to the pile of bodies he'd collected, black Essence swirling around him as he began to resurrect them. One by one, at his command, they lurched after the figure until they were at least fifty people strong.

"Let us see if you have improved since we last met."


	2. Chapter 1: The Stranger

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of The Mummy or The Mummy Returns, nor do I own the world of Exalted. All belong to their respective owners, and I am not making even a penny off this story.

Chapter One: The Stranger

The harsh desert sun shone favorably upon Ardeth Bey and his men as they watched over the fallen city of Hamunaptra, more out of habit than necessity these days. Ardeth knew that there was little chance of Imhotep rising a third time, but he had assumed the same thing after the first and certainly didn't want to gamble any more lives on _little _chance. As he looked out over the sands, mid-afternoon sun trying to darken his already tanned skin, he admitted to himself silently that there was another reason he came out to this sunken piece of desert day after day. He didn't dare divulge this secret reason to anyone in the twelve tribes of his people, but he'd caught a taste of adventure, and now that he'd had it twice he liked it. This small addiction was worrisome at times, for he found himself wishing that something would happen, that perhaps the world would be in danger again and he would get to fight whatever creature was threatening it. But he dealt with the dull aspects of his ancestral duties with a grace and nobility none would deny. He was not only a warrior; he was a guard, descended from a long line of pharaohs' bodyguards, and his destiny lay in the sands of the city. He would continue to watch over the treasures of ancient Egypt, the now-empty tomb of the undead creature he had fought alongside foreigners and that his people's ancestors had helped to create.

The heat rose in waves off the sand, blurring the distant scenery and constructing mirages for his eyes every so often to toy with him, to make him think they should ride out on their horses and attack. One or two of the men apparently saw some of the same things, for they came close to unsheathing their weapons. Their hands would drop to their sides, but the men stayed ready just as they had every day they came out with him, and he swelled with a silent pride at that. His men were trained in the arts of war, and even though they never expected to have to fight over the city anymore, they did what they were supposed to. All of them were skilled fighters, and he had told them as such on many occasions, but he was now observing the true skills of a Medjai that could not be learned through teaching. One had to be constantly alert, even when there was nothing but sand to stare at for hours, but the blood of their people ran through their veins and gave them the strength and determination to deal with it.

Ardeth gently stroked his horse's neck when the midnight black Arabian grew restless, stamping its hooves in the sand as he sat idly upon its back. He silently promised that when they left, it would be at the fastest speed possible to make up for it. It would also get to run if they found anything, but that seemed less and less likely the more they came out here. He nearly sighed at that thought, his hand almost shaking with the itch to grasp the hilt of his sword again.

It nearly did when one of his men, Yusuf, moved beside him and disturbed him from his reverie. This was not lost on Yusuf, who merely said, "Sir, I believe there is something on the horizon." He pointed, and the Medjai chief's eyes followed, spotting a small black blur in the distance, making its way slowly to the city. He continued to stare intently at it, checking to see if it wasn't just another mirage, but this figure didn't fade from view. He looked down at his hand; it was already on his sword. A feeling of growing anticipation settled in his stomach, and he suddenly knew that the presence of this stranger would bring about a storm unlike anything the world had ever seen.

"Sir? Should we ride?"

"No. Wait and see where he is headed first." Ardeth couldn't tell the gender of the stranger approaching the ancient necropolis, but he assumed they were male out of his experiences in the desert. It was mostly men who came looking for Hamunaptra, greedy men who wished to plunder the treasures of Seti I.

Yusuf nodded and rode a short distance away to tell the other men to remain waiting. Ardeth's eyes narrowed as he tried to make out the features of the figure on the dunes, the distance too great for him to make out any details beyond something slung over one of the man's shoulders that winked enticingly in the sun - probably gold. Ardeth's brows furrowed. But why would someone be traveling on their own with treasure carried so openly when bandits and thieves roamed these lands?

"Yusuf, Malachi," he barked, and the two men looked over at him, awaiting his command, "Keep watch here, see if you are able to find out who or what that is." He didn't need to continue that thought; they knew what he was going to say. He was going to try and get closer, to judge whether or not this stranger was going to disturb the peace that had finally settled over the land. He could feel it in his gut that something big was about to happen, but he was hardly aware of what relevance it would have to him and the Medjai.

The anticipation swelled to an almost unmanageable size as he dismounted his horse and handed the reins over to Yusuf. He adjusted his turban, pulling the black cloth back over his nose and mouth, nodding to his men before carefully making his way down from their perch overlooking the desert. He was forced to keep himself almost uncomfortably low to the ground since the sun was still high in the sky and he would stand out from the sand the way the stranger did in his all-black attire.

The figure was not at all interested in Hamunaptra. In fact, the very name of the city would have rung no bells of recognition for them.The city the false tomb had been constructed to be part of was long since gone, a loss that had been anticipated, but hadn't registered until the figure woke up and saw nothing but sand in every direction.

A glance over the shoulder and the use of a Charm said more than the figure needed to know of why the sarcophagus had opened up after all these years. A darkness washed over the sands slowly, a small army of the dead in pursuit of the figure. They only moved as fast as the darkness spread and their legs could carry them, for the changing scenery was the only thing allowing them to walk in the daytime. Wherever the darkness touched the sands, the snakes and scorpions within either died or became horribly perverse and terrifying versions of themselves. It brought the very corruption of the Underworld up to Creation, and not only would it make it more comfortable for the dead, it made it more comfortable for the caster himself. The figure knew without a doubt who had sent these zombies, just as it was clear from the fact that they were following in a straight line that there was a nemissary in their midst.

"So he is still around as well," the figure said, the voice still hoarse and genderless. Water would be a priority after the dead were laid to rest, "But just what is he playing at, sending zombies and a single nemissary after me?"

As Ardeth drew nearer to the stranger, he realized that the only facial features he could see were the chin and mouth, the latter of which had been moving only seconds before. Ardeth did not hear what had been said, but even if he had he probably wouldn't have been able to understand the language. In contrast to the cloak, the skin was almost pure white and there was no trace of sunburn or tanning anywhere. This was very odd, since even shrouded as the figure was, the sun did not just shine down on people – the light reflected off the sand as well. English and American travelers who had not been in such harsh climes before often did not realize this, and though they wore wide-brimmed hats on their heads their face would still be bright pink by the time night fell. But surely this stranger had been walking for miles on his own, and no one that pale could ever hope to prevent gaining a little color in their cheeks out here in the desert. But here he was, walking confidently, unmarked by the harsh rays of the sun.

The man had a bow and quiver of arrows over his shoulder, along with a surprisingly small bag that couldn't possibly carry all the supplies necessary to have survived this long. The bow was what was glinting at Ardeth and his men, made of the brightest, most reflective gold he had ever seen. It was as though the weapon were absorbing the sunlight and reflecting it back, creating a miniature sun. The stranger's arms were covered by long black gloves that disappeared under the cloak, bringing out another splash of white against the dark outfit. Three books were tucked under his arm, appearing almost to rival white itself in their purity of color. The man carried them loosely, but Ardeth could tell they were well cared for, as whenever one shifted, he was very careful to stop and tuck it back into place with the others.

Ardeth's hand went to the scimitar at his side when he noticed the outline of two large swords against the cloak, probably belted around the man's waist. But the stranger did not seem to notice Ardeth's presence many yards away behind a particularly large sand dune, or if he did, there was no sign of it. The swords jostled beneath the cloak silently, bringing attention to the stranger's clothing once more. Other than the pale features he could see beneath the hood of the cloak, Ardeth could see the figure's pants, black and slightly faded from being worn often. One of the legs had an extra length of fabric over it, which caught any gust of wind that chanced to blow around him, billowing out with the edges of the cloak dramatically.

The stranger appeared to look over his shoulder a few times, and Ardeth guessed that perhaps some of the Bedouin were following him, or some bandits who had yet to get their greedy hands on the golden bow. What he saw when he looked behind the man shocked his eyes into widening considerably, for the sand was slowly turning black a few hundred feet behind the stranger. It reminded him of when Anubis's army was rising from the sands, the decaying relics of the jackal-headed warriors shaking the sand from them as though it had collected everywhere it could while they were lying in wait. But there was something different to it, something much more sinister that caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. He could feel it in his bones, the land was being corrupted by some sort of magic he'd never seen before.

The figure sighed, reaching a gloved hand up beneath the hood of the cloak to scratch an itch that suddenly appeared, scowling both at the itch and the situation. It was clear that a fight was to be on those covered hands, but with the people watching from the distant cliffs and the man creeping around in the sand, it became clear that it would be wrong to let it happen in the open where they could be hurt – or worse. There was also the small matter of the patch of sand that seemed one death closer to becoming a Shadowland, a place where the land of the living and the Underworld collided violently, where the dead could do as they pleased in Creation. If one of the living were to end up there when the sun went down, leaving would have them getting lost in the Underworld.

"No," the figure reasoned, and again Ardeth didn't hear the slowly strengthening voice, "I cannot risk them."

With another sigh, the figure turned almost ninety degrees and began walking away from where Ardeth was hiding, hoping to draw the dead away.

Ardeth was surprised when the stranger veered off from his previous course and disappeared beyond the horizon once more. Satisfied that Hamunaptra wasn't going to be "discovered" again but wholly unsatisfied that this would be only a brief glimpse of what was happening outside of his world as chief of the Medjai. He chanced a glance over his shoulder, gazing longingly in the direction the stranger had gone, as though he wished he too could merely choose a different direction to go. Part of him wanted to mount his horse and take off after the man, offer his aid as a warrior should it be necessary and the man a good guy as Rick would term it, or kill him should he be the cause of the land's sudden corruption.

As he walked, an odd sound caught his attention. He could have sworn he'd just heard a groan from the direction the stranger had come, along with the unnatural shifting of sand that only happened when someone was stumbling through the desert.

When he looked back, there must have been fifty, maybe sixty men and women walking over the sand. Their clothes were all blood-soaked, and as he watched he became more and more aware that their movements were wrong somehow. They weren't just stumbling – they were lurching, some with their chins tucked in on their chests, some with a dead limb or two hanging by their side or dragging through the sand.

He was wondering if it were possible that they were an injured group of desert-dwellers trying to reach their homes to get some aid when he saw the marks and clothes of the Medjai within the group. Stunned by this revelation, he snuck a bit closer, dropping down almost to his stomach to remain hidden as he tried to make out their faces. When they were clearly visible, his breath caught in his throat. They were Medjai, without a doubt. No, that wasn't right - they _had been_ Medjai, before they had been killed in action. He himself had seen one or two of these men fall in battle, and to see them walking again filled him with a horror unknown to him until that moment of realization washed over him.

He could hear a raspy but still vaguely feminine voice barking at the men and women in a language he'd never heard before. His gaze drifted back to where the stranger had been when he walked off, and he was aware that he should duck back down to the ground to prevent being seen, but he was either too shocked or too reckless to do so.

"Stay in formation!" the nemissary ordered in that unknown language, its voice coming through the body of a woman who had been rather attractive in life, but who its master had disfigured beyond recognition. Her eyes hardly worked, but it knew where it was headed – it had more than enough tracking experience to find its target with or without eyes. A rather curious scent wafted beneath the dead nose, and it turned the corpse's head toward the source of it, grinning wickedly as the figure of a man appeared within its blurred vision.

"Change of plans, boys and girls! I know how we'll get this one to come to us," its voice said, sounding like dry leaves crackling underfoot, "Stay put, and don't you dare move." The dead stopped, standing around as best they could with their lack of brainpower, and the nemissary began to approach Ardeth as the darkness spread out in his direction.

He quickly signaled for his men to come down and help him with the woman and the hoard of zombies, a small sigh of relief escaping him as he heard the hooves beginning to make their way toward him. The terrible woman's lips parted with another grin, something that looked more like a grimace to Ardeth as he saw that the corners of her mouth had been cut through with a knife, the slashes going up to both ears. All of her gums and teeth were visible, the latter stained a pinkish-brown with the blood that had surely spilled out from the wounds, and with the movement, two small dribbles of still-wet but coagulated blood traveled at a snail's pace down her chin. He was horrified, more of what had been done to her than the woman herself. Her blood-soaked, film-covered eyes flashed dangerously, her fingers contorting to resemble claws as she lurched closer. He had a feeling that she was only moving so slowly to toy with him, back him into a corner before surprising him with her true speed – which she would do in a few moments if he wasn't careful. But he was toying with her too, in his own way, making her think she had him too frightened to use his swords on her.

"Get away from him!" the stranger's voice called, turning both Ardeth's and the dead woman's heads, even though Ardeth didn't understand, "You got me to come to you, okay? Leave him alone, he's not part of this."

"I have not been ordered to _talk_ to you, Solar," the woman hissed, succeeding even for the lack of 's's in the sentence, spitting out the word "Solar" like a curse, "I am to capture you and bring you to my master. And as for this very handsome man, you cannot hope to save him from me."

"Oh really?" the figure whispered as the nemissary turned back to Ardeth, drawing an arrow from the quiver and pulling it back in the bow. Ardeth's eyes were drawn away from the disfigured woman by an explosion of sunlight, and he quickly covered his eyes from the brightness of it. It bounced off the golden bow in all directions, probably visible for miles around. He heard a twang from the bow, the mini-sun coming his and the woman's way, making a beeline for her. The woman screamed, a sound that was wholly inhuman and reminded him of bones scraping over a stone floor, of the shrieks only heard in the worst of nightmares.

And then she was gone. One of the Medjai warriors Ardeth recognized in the group walked up behind the stranger, leaning in close as the bow was lowered. He could see the wound that had killed him, a cut to the neck that had nearly severed his head completely.

"You didn't kill me," the nemissary whispered in the figure's ear. As soon as it spoke, it received an elbow in the dead gut of the man it had jumped into. It grunted and stumbled back, off balance. That was all the figure needed to spin around, bringing a boot-covered foot to its head and sending it flying off. It cursed itself for forgetting the dead man's wound when it had gotten close to its target, and jumped again.

"Kill the man and his friends, but leave our target alone!" it shouted from the mouth of a five-year-old boy, blood stained like tears on his face from where his eyes had been gouged out. It turned to grin evilly at the figure, the expression all the more frightening for the face that formed it.

"Don't you dare," the figure said through gritted teeth.

"Watch me," the "child" said.

The dead surged forward suddenly toward Ardeth, who drew his swords, the other warriors still too far away to help him. The figure's cloak billowed out as one gloved arm thrust a giant golden sword in front of the first wave of walking dead, the heads falling to the ground and the bodies tumbling after. Ardeth wondered where the stranger had removed the sword from, and how he hoped to take on all those people on his own.

"I know what you are," the figure snarled at the child-nemissary, "I am going to destroy you and everyone you could hope to jump into." Ardeth watched as the stranger removed the cloak with one hand, the garment fluttering to the ground, revealing long golden hair and the slender, athletic figure of a woman. His eyes widened again at his mistake in judging her gender, for now that the cloak was off, he could see all the hints, glaringly obvious in his hindsight. The gloves only went to the middle of her upper arms, and all but her breasts and a small part of her back was exposed to view by a tiny black bandeau top. More curiously, where her skin was visible, she was covered in intricate golden tattoos.

"Will you? I doubt that, I will come back in another body even if I have to go fifty miles away to find it, and I will succeed in bringing you to my master, Kennis Loshan."

"Trust me, you won't succeed," Kennis, still holding the zombies back with her giant sword, known to her as a daiklave, said, very sure of herself. She brought the daiklave in front of her, gripping the hilt with both hands, and Ardeth was surprised once more when the seemingly solid weapon split in two, one for each hand.

"Oh I think I will," it said mysteriously, "GET HER." The living Medjai warriors watched as the zombies, their bodies hiding her relatively small frame from their view, surrounded the blonde woman. But before Ardeth could give the orders to have his men help to rescue her, sunlight began to peek out through the gaps in the bodies, and the zombies able to touch her dropped down, smoke coming off of them like she'd burnt them.

"You'll have to do better than that," she spat at the nemissary, swinging the swords (which were also glowing with sunlight, curiously) around her, the blades slicing through the dead flesh like a warm knife through melted butter. One by one the zombies began to drop at her feet. Her blonde hair glinted almost like the gold inlayed in her skin, the gold of her bow, and the gold of those massive swords she shouldn't possibly have been able to hold. She continued to spin around, cutting down any zombie who tried to come near her, then the ones standing idly by until it was just she and the nemissary staring at each other.

"Go ahead and stab me," it taunted, not letting her see it was unnerved by the sudden curve of her lips. One sword went right through the dead boy's head. She watched with that smirk as the spirit floated up out of the body.

"Didn't you know I can see and kill spirits?" she asked, taunting back before the other sword came around and sliced through it.


End file.
